


sad penguins and other turn-ons

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Lance (Voltron), Edging, Face-Fucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Kink Exploration, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), PWP, Scent Kink, but really they're just idiots, late canonverse but make it angst free, smut and humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: Lance makes the declaration from Keith’s bed, abruptly, without any kind of preamble:“I want you to make me cry during sex.”Keith is sitting at his desk. He was supposed to be drafting the mission parameters for the next Blade initiative, but somehow in his research surrounding the network of trade hubs in the Oelian belt, he got sidetracked---“Or maybe,” Lance continues, more contemplative now, “I’ll make you cry. Either way.”Uh. Keith lifts his head from his fist from where he’s been slumped as he scrolls through the pages. What was it--what did Lance just say?Minimizing the holoscreen, Keith leans out of the chair to look back at Lance. Crying. During sex. That’s what Lance just said.“Like...because it’s bad?”*Everyone knows that Keith will rise to a challenge. Especially from Lance.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 576
Collections: favorites





	sad penguins and other turn-ons

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a oneshot, but if you want to think of these keith and lance as the same ones from [that mullet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194063), you can, thats how I’ve been thinking of them. lol this fic is the unofficial sequel to that fic...but of course you can read it with no background info, it’s just pwp with a side of idiocy. My favorite brand of klance ! I hope you enjoy:

***

Lance makes the declaration from Keith’s bed, abruptly, without any kind of preamble: 

“I want you to make me cry during sex.” 

Keith is sitting at his desk. He was supposed to be drafting the mission parameters for the next Blade initiative, but somehow in his research surrounding the network of trade hubs in the Oelian belt, he got sidetracked into looking at the traditional ‘singing’ weaponry of the Oel. It’s really cool shit though, the way the blade curves to a razor thin, tapered point on one end, while the opposite end is weighted. Traditionally they’re spun in combat, blades zinging into deadly arcs around the hands of the wielder, thus creating the ‘song’ as it whistles through the air. Cool.  _ So _ cool. Keith is itching to hold one, just to see if he could---

“Or maybe,” Lance continues, more contemplative now, “I’ll make  _ you  _ cry. Either way.” 

Uh. Keith lifts his head from his fist from where he’s been slumped as he scrolls through the pages. What was it--what did Lance just say? 

Minimizing the holoscreen with the Oel knives, Keith leans out of the chair to look back at Lance. Crying. During sex. That’s what Lance just said. 

“Like...because it’s bad?” 

Lance is laying in his bed, in Keith’s bed. It’s after hours and he’s wearing nothing but boxers and a tee shirt that says ‘Kieth: Legendary Red Paladin’ on it...and has a cartoon picture of Allura’s head. (It might be bootlegged because, at the very least, the official merch for the Voltron show spelled his name correctly.) Keith suspects that Lance just wears the damn shirt to be obnoxious. 

He’s been lying on his back, knees lazily propped up, hands behind his head. Now he shifts, long legs sliding against the dark sheets. He flops to his side to look at Keith. The picture of Allura’s face on his shirt gets smooshed. 

“No,” Lance says, tucking Keith’s pillow under his head. He flings one arm out to point at Keith’s confused expression, emphasizing his counter-argument. “Because it’s  _ good.” _

Keith is about to ask _ why _ would they be crying if the sex was good, but Lance continues, 

“And don’t even get started with,” he deepens his voice into an exaggerated low rasp, “‘Oh I’m Keith, I’m a grizzled, macho guy, and I never cry,’” Lance switches back to his normal voice, “because  _ dude _ , I’ve seen you  _ bawl _ .” 

Keith scoffs. He turns around in the chair, now fully invested. “Like hell. When?” 

The smile on Lance’s face curls into something wicked. He raises his eyebrows. “Four words buddy: March of the Penguins.” 

Keith crosses his arms over his chest. Ignores the way his cheeks feel hot. He will never forgive Colleen Holt for her choice on Atlas wide movie night. Griffin’s choice of (borderline pornographic) anime was less awkwardly tense. The anime girls might be wearing fewer pieces of clothing than was logical for battle, but at least there was no mama penguin fighting for her---

“March of the  _ motherfucking  _ Penguins, Keith,” Lance caws, waving one arm over his head. “That’s what we need.” 

“Lance.” Keith is more than willing to go with whatever during sex, even more so when he’s horny and in the moment, but this is just weird. “I am not fucking you with the penguin movie playing. That’s just weird.” He grimaces at the thought alone. It’s bad enough when the space wolf happens to be in the room with them. He always feels like he should apologize afterwards. 

Lance gives Keith a look like he grew another head, his eyes all buggy and wide. He sits up. His feet drop to the floor, first the right, then the left. Hands gripping the edge of the mattress, he leans towards Keith and sputters: “I’m not talking about fucking during the penguin movie!!” 

“Then why’d you bring it up!” Keith huffs, completely lost. 

“Emotional! Release!” Lance stabs the air with his pointer finger to drive the words home. He stands up, starts pacing in front of Keith, steps measured and hands flailing while he launches into a seemingly well rehearsed rant about transformative self-regulation and catharsis. Promotion of psychological well-being. Bondage. Roleplay. Costumes. Toys. Cockrings and buttplugs and vibrators and those little clamps that (Lance makes a pinching motion with his fingers) that people put on their nipples. 

Keith sits back in his chair and listens quietly to what seems like a decently thought out argument...until Lance mentions the more kinky stuff. Purely as an example, of course, (Lance states) of potential stress reduction. 

The thing about Lance is: he never quite says what he means. It’s not that Lance is a liar, really, it’s just that he’s not honest with  _ himself. _ He’s loud, and annoying, and he talks a lot (A LOT) so it took Keith a long time to get it. Not quite as long as it took to start dating Lance, but close. Keith has come to realize, after many years of knowing and living with Lance, all of the ridiculous rants---and daily crises and obnoxious showboating and overdone theatrics---usually boil down to something really easy to pin down. 

And if Lance  _ himself  _ wants to be pinned down…? That’s easy too. Very easy. 

“You didn’t have to mention the sad penguins just because you wanted me to tie you up, Lance.” Keith grumbles. 

Lance opens and closes his mouth. “Were you even listening to anything I just said?!” 

Keith shrugs. 

“You know Keith, relationships require something called  _ communication _ .” Lance says. “Maybe you’ve heard of it.” He gives Keith a pointed look like this is a discussion they’ve had many times before.

(Lance conveniently forgets that it was  _ Keith  _ who informed  _ him _ that they were dating in the first place. If it wasn’t for Keith and  _ his _ communication, Lance would still be blabbing around the Atlas, talking about ‘friends with benefits.’) 

Keith rolls his eyes. They literally share an ancient magical bond which allows their consciousnesses to intermingle so that they can pilot a giant robot. They communicate just fine. Plus, when Lance says ‘communication,’ he usually just means, ‘listen to what I’m saying and agree with me.’ 

“We communicate fine.” Keith asserts. “We communicate even better when you get to the point instead of talking around it.” 

Lance grins. “Fair enough, Keith-y boy.” He claps his hands like a cheery school counselor about to casually ruin one’s entire Garrison career with a single statement. (Keith would know.) 

“Let’s try something different tonight.” 

* 

So roughly half a varga later, Lance is still standing in front of Keith. Except for now, he’s blindfolded. 

(Which seems counterproductive because how will Keith know if Lance is crying if he’s blindfolded? But Keith has long since learned to just go with it when Lance is being Lance-ish.) 

Keith waits while Lance fusses with the blindfold. 

It’s not really a blindfold. It’s the same eye mask that Lance sometimes wears to bed, if he’s being particularly high maintenance that night. (Whether it’s going to be a high maintenance night or not---it’s a crapshoot, Keith has decided. Sometimes Lance is content to shove the pillows the way he likes and settle in next to Keith, snoring his way into sleep without any problems. Other nights he’s fussing with the sleep mask and complaining about blue light and the size of his pores and informing Keith that he needs to rotate his mattress at least twice a decaphoeb....and he can go on and on and on. They’ve been dating for a while now; Keith has gotten pretty good at choosing his battles. The mattress thing is not one of them.) 

The sleeping mask is a baby blue, with two overly large eyes sewn onto it. Beady black pupils, big white eyes. Complete with long eyelashes. If Keith happens to wake up in the middle of the night, those eyes looking back at him in the dark are slightly disturbing, if he’s being honest. Right now it just looks weird.

“Are you done yet?” Keith asks, because Lance has been adjusting the face mask for what seems like forever. And Keith is just standing here, in his own bedroom, being stared at by those big, vacant sewn-on eyes. 

“Uhhhh, yeah, yeah,” Lance says, kinda swaying as he shifts his weight from one side to the other. “I can’t see anything at least.” He cocks his hips in a way that is probably supposed to be alluring. Grins a little. “So Keith. How do I look?” 

The Voltron show tee shirt already balled up and tossed in the corner, Lance is standing in front of Keith’s bed, wearing nothing but his favorite pair of boxers and that weird sleeping mask with the eyes. The eyes. 

“Disturbing,” Keith says, mostly without thinking. 

Lance's hand freezes from where he’s tszujing his hair. He drops his shoulders. “Excuuse you---disturbing?!” 

“The eyes.” Keith explains. 

“Keeeiiiiith.” 

Keith doesn’t want to ruin things before they even begin. He waves his hand. “I---Just---just flip it over.” 

“Like this?” Lance frowns and flips it so the big eyes are underneath and it’s just plain blue now. 

“Yeah.” Keith agrees. “Better.” 

“Just better?” Lance asks, dropping his voice to sultry. An overdone ‘bedroom’ voice. It’s just as ridiculous as he is. Keith shouldn’t find it hot. (He does.) “Or good?” 

The light is dim in Keith’s bedroom. The pale glow from the holoscreens hovering over Keith’s desk is just enough for the dips and divots of Lance’s collarbones, the line of his abs, the cut of his hips, to cast their slight shadows over his supple skin. The sliver of light from the open door of the en suite bathroom is just enough to appreciate the way the warm brown of Lance’s chest becomes a lighter tone at the hemline of his shorts. 

And though he’s acting weird tonight, it’s just part of how Lance is---rambling and goofy and a little unpredictable. Keith smiles, genuine, at the sight of him now. The blue sleeping mask covering his eyes. Broad shoulders, speckled with freckles and scars, all of which Keith has mapped with teeth, kissed with fingertips, fallen asleep against and woken up besides. The impatient, familiar drop of his chin as he waits for Keith’s response. The way his hair is floofing out of place from being pressed against Keith’s pillow. The complete trust in Keith to want this with him. 

“Good. Lance.” Keith wets his lips. “Good.” He steps forward, into Lance’s space. Close enough to settle a hand on Lance’s hip. “Gonna kiss you now.” 

It’s not the type of thing that Keith would normally announce, but with the blindfold and all, seems like the right thing to do. 

Lance nods, a smile over his lips before they part for Keith. He tilts his head back, relaxed as Keith takes the lead, dipping into Lance’s mouth. He pulls him closer, one hand barely slipping under the waistband of Lance’s boxers just below the small of his back. The other skims Lance’s forearm, fingers light to encircle his wrist, slip into Lance’s open palm. Their fingers knit together and Lance’s mouth stills. 

“Keith,” he says, 

“Mm?” Keith asks, drawing back to kiss at the corner of his lips. He ducks his head, kissing at his jawline. Lance’s mouth pulls into a smile. 

Lance squeezes his hand and draws it up between them to kiss at Keith’s knuckles. “This isn’t what I meant.” He tilts his head, “Nice, but,” 

“Oh yeah.” Keith withdraws his hand from Lance’s shorts and also shakes off his palm. He twitches his fingers at his sides. “Uh, so what do you want me to do?” 

“Well.” Lance scratches at the back of his head. His shoulders slump. “Dunno? I just pictured you in charge. Kinda ordering me around. Y’know--- _ dirty. _ Or whatever. And then a really mind blowing fuck.” 

“Uh.” 

“That’s really it.” 

“Okay.” Keith nods slowly. “Okay. I can do that.” 

He nods again. Yeah. At a total loss for what he should do or say. Huh. 

“Any day now.” 

Keith frowns. “You could.” 

“No, no. Keith! That’s not how this goes! You’re supposed to be  _ commanding _ . All, like, sexy and dark---”

“Fine!” Keith says. “Stand on one leg!” 

Lance huffs and sags his shoulders. “We’re not playing Simon Says.”

“Stand on one leg.” Keith repeats, more forcefully. 

It's difficult to know for sure, thanks to the blindfold, but Lance is likely rolling his eyes. 

“Who is Simon?” Keith asks, voice meant to be ‘sexy and dark.’ He thinks it sounds like he has a cold. 

“Keith, you can’t be serious---oh wait, is this part of it? Fuck, it’s hard to tell when I can’t see your face.” Lance teeters on one leg. “Okay so Simon is….my ex. Or something. Call me a slut.”

Keith wrinkles his nose and then remembers that Lance can’t see him. “No.” 

Whatever Lance was going to say next is garbled as Keith moves forward, touching him now with more focused intent. He grabs Lance’s thigh, hiking it against his own waist. He takes a moment to appreciate the way the muscles tense and gather under Lance’s skin as he fights to stay balanced. 

The muscles in his abs clench too, Keith notices, as he begins working his way down Lance’s chest. He starts at the thin gold chain that Lance wears around his neck (it’s his mom’s and he never takes it off,) and works his way down. Teeth against Lance’s collarbone, tongue at the nub of his nipple, open mouthed kisses down his sternum to the top of his shorts. By the time Keith has sunk to his knees, Lance’s breathing has audibly quickened. 

“Keithhh,” he groans, wobbling on one foot as Keith slips Lance’s thigh over his shoulder. 

Keith turns his head, kissing now against the inner thigh that’s oh so perfectly pressed close to his face. Lance is flexible and his legs are long, and  _ fuck, _ Keith will never get enough of either of those two facts. 

The heel of his foot digs into Keith’s back, and Lance runs his fingers through the loose strands of Keith’s bangs. “Fuck,” he breathes, and Keith can feel the tug of his hands as they comb through his hair. 

Keith ignores him. Instead inhales against the swell in Lance’s boxers. His eyes fall shut. One of his favorite things. Lance’s sweat and musk, smell searing strong, organic, filthy. He runs his hand down the length of Lance’s leg, and up again as he inhales. The smell is thick enough that it makes Keith salivate. He lets his other hand slip from the top of Lance’s thigh to get a palmful of his ass. He squeezes, then moves to push the short boxers to the side. He can feel Lance’s thigh tense next to his face as Keith gets a handful of his ass; both of his legs tremble as Keith lets his fingers dip between his ass cheeks, the middle one brushing over his hole. 

Lance bites down on a curse and his hands scramble through Keith’s hair and he leans forward, just that much closer, pressing his crotch into Keith’s face. 

Fuck. Keith inhales again, deep, wishing that he had thought to unbutton his jeans before kneeling. He does so now with one hand, pulling himself---already half hard---out of his own boxers. He’ll figure out the the lube and the prepping situation later, right now he just wants to  _ taste.  _

“Keith! Keith! What’re you--hhh, what are you---” 

Lance gasps at the first contact of Keith’s mouth against his balls, 

“Keith!” Lance is squirming and generally making it difficult for Keith to focus on what he’s doing. 

He leans back. “Yes, Lance?” 

“What are you doing!?” 

Keith shakes his head in disbelief and then, once again remembers that Lance can’t see him. Is it not obvious? Just in case it’s not, he says, “Sucking you off.” 

“No!” Lance smacks the top of his head and Keith narrows his eyes. 

“No?” 

“What happened to our deal, man?” 

Keith frowns. He’s about to tell Lance that the deal is stupid if it doesn’t involve head, but then he looks up at Lance’s face. His pout looks...genuine. 

He drops Lance’s leg from his shoulder so abruptly that Lance wobbles in front of him. Keith steadies him, holding onto his hips. He stands. 

Keith stands up and Lance peels off the blindfold. 

“Are you not into it?”

His big brown eyes are searching and wide as he looks up into Keith’s face. “It’s cool if you’re not,” he adds, gaze dipping down just enough to look self conscious. When he raises his eyes to look at Keith at beat later, that look is gone. And Keith knows that Lance would drop it right there if he said so. 

He considers for a minute.

Keith does a half shrug, makes a face, like, _ I guess I...could be. Maybe?  _

“Seems overly complicated.” Keith settles on. The day before yesterday he fucked Lance in the showers before their morning training. It was good. Three days before that, Keith had just gotten back from a mission with the Blades and Lance had been so eager for him, they ended up having sex in Keith’s bunk aboard the shuttle vessel. Also good. They’ve been together for almost six months now and everything is good. Why complicate things?

“Okay.” Lance breathes out. “Howbout this? What if I’m the one giving orders?”

Keith nods. “If you want.” 

Lance grins, all wide-eyed, like he’s surprised by this turn of events. He plants a happy kiss over Keith’s mouth, “Sweet!” and then rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms over his head. “Gettin’ in the zone,” he says, by way of explanation, and starts jogging in place. 

Keith shakes his head, “You are so---” 

Lance waves a hand, cutting him off. “Shh---we’re starting now.” He straightens his expression into something serious---

And, as stupid as this all is, Keith can’t deny that Lance looking at him like that: steely eyed, his ever expressive mouth pulled into a grim line, shoulders sqare and commanding, 

It does have a certain effect. He wets his lips and notes that Lance’s eyes follow the motion. 

“Knees.” Lance says.

Keith looks down at his knees. 

“On your knees.” 

Keith crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. 

“On your knees, cadet.” 

Keith tilts his chin up. “No.” 

Lance’s shoulders un-square. He swats Keith across the chest. “Dude!” 

“Oh sorry,” Keith smirks. “Did you want me to do something?” 

Lance pushes him and Keith’s smirk breaks into a grin. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re the worst!” Lance bites through his own grin. “The worst!” 

“Tell me more,” Keith drawls. 

“Ugggghh,” Lance says instead. Slumping against Keith. 

Keith kisses a smile against his temple and runs a hand down his back. He should probably feel bad for teasing, but Lance is cutest when he’s flustered and it’s hard to resist. 

“Look,” Keith clears his throat. “If you really want to overpower me, it just takes some strategy. I’m---”

“We’re not training, Keith!”

Keith is about to make the point that they are  _ technically _ active duty and while this might not be the most typical training environment, this is still a worthwhile lesson, and in fact, 

Lance stands up straight. He lifts Keith’s hand from where it’s settled against his skin and brings it to his mouth. He kisses against Keith’s knuckles. “Babe. Baby. Light of my life, all the stars in my sky,” 

Keith snorts. 

Lance rolls his eyes. Gets serious. “No worries. Really. Imma take this as a big, fat Not Our Thing, and,” 

His lips look plush. 

Keith pushes a thumb in his mouth. 

Lance’s tongue swirls to meet it, hot, soft, piliant. He swallows. Audibly. 

His brown eyes---unflecked by gold, unmarred by any other color, just constant, like Lance himself---go darker. Black pupil now almost indistinguishable from the edge of deep, rich brown surrounding it. Keith runs the pad of his thumb against the blunt points of Lance’s teeth. Pulls the thumb, slow, slow, out of Lance’s mouth. Slow enough that a string of saliva connects the two. The string breaks, leaving a drop against Lance’s parted lips. 

Keith swipes across, gathering the wetness. He brings it to his own mouth, licking it off before he rubs his thumb across his shirt to wipe it dry. 

Lance tracks the motion, lips still parted. 

“Good boy,” Keith tells him. He runs his thumb against his forefinger, almost absent minded. 

Lance makes a little noise. In the back of his throat, involuntary. He closes his mouth. 

“Knees,” Keith suggests softly. 

Lance drops to the floor like a puppet cut from its strings. 

Keith runs a hand along his jaw, tilting Lance’s face up. The eye mask is perched on his forehead, sitting askew on the top of his head. Keith slips it off and tosses it out of the way. Strokes up the column of Lance’s neck with the back of his fingers, under his chin. Lance swallows again, and Keith feels the bob of his adam’s apple under his hands. 

Lance watches him as Keith wiggles out of his jeans. He turns, unsnaps the wrists of his gloves and sets them atop the folded pants. Hands bare, he returns to Lance to press his palm to Lance’s cheek. 

“Didn’t know you could even be this quiet,” Keith mutters. He thumb catches under Lance’s mouth. 

There’s a snappy comeback there, Keith can see it. The edge of Lance’s mouth tilts up like it always does right before he’s going to say something that he thinks is really witty. And as much as Keith loves Lance’s (constant) commentary, there’s something better he can do with that mouth right now. 

He presses two fingers, his index and middle, to Lance’s bottom lip. Lance relaxes his jaw and his eyes flutter shut. Lance’s lips curl into a smile around his fingers as Keith slides them in his mouth. Keith twists his wrist, teasing one finger across the roof of Lance’s mouth. Lance is not quite gagging, but it’s an intrusion. Even more so as Keith scissors and curls. Lance suckles, drool soon pooling around Keith’s fingers and down his wrist. 

Lance has a hand down his shorts. 

“Don’t---” Keith decides. “Don’t touch yourself.” 

The jerking motion stills. But his hand remains under the waistband. 

Keith lifts one foot and taps it against Lance’s wrist. Reluctantly, Lance withdraws. His hand is shaky as it comes to rest against Keith’s forearm. Not to make Keith stop or withdraw---no, to hold Keith’s hand in place. He continues to suck, mouth and lips over Keith’s fingers, the meat of his palm, against the back of his hand, 

Keith uses his foot to gently push Lance’s knees further apart, widening the way that he’s kneeling. Legs open wide, heels against his ass. Lance’s cock is now straining against the thin cotton of his boxers. Keith drags a finger across Lance’s tongue and, at the same time, presses his instep against Lance’s crotch. 

The effect is instantaneous. Wetness blooms over the tent of Lances boxers and he nearly chokes, fingers spasming across Keith’s pulse. 

“Oh.” Keith says, dumb. Suddenly, he gets the appeal. Of all this. 

“Don’t  _ ‘oh _ ’ me, you asshole,” Lance says, pulling off of Keith’s hand. But the way he says it is breathy, uneven. Almost panting. 

He looks up at Keith and the heat there is different from the playful fire that comes from their constant back-and-forth. It’s smouldering. 

Keith responds by pressing again, rolling his foot just slightly against Lance’s cock, heel pressing into his balls. 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deep through his nose. It’s an obvious tell that, by now, Keith knows well. He’s trying not to come. 

“Oh,” Keith repeats. Except, now  _ delight _ is curled around the syllable. 

Now, his voice drops deep from his chest, and it’s uncontrived, the dark rasp that makes it sound almost foreign to his own ears. He grips Lance’s chin with sloppy fingers. “Lance. You’ll come when I say so. Not before that. Got it?” 

“Yeah.” Lance’s voice is thready. “Y-yeah. Got it.” 

“Good boy.” Keith repeats for the second time. He bends, reaching under Lance’s elbow to give the suggestion of helping him up. Lance stands, folds into his arms. 

“Haaahh,” he breathes out something not quite a laugh, “So. Keith. That was,” 

Keith bends to kiss against his neck. “Bed,” he instructs against Lance’s smooth skin. He feels the words falter in Lance’s throat. 

There’s lube and condoms in the compartment at the head of Keith’s bunk. He takes out a bottle and one of the little packets and sets them on the shelf that serves as the headboard. He turns, 

“S-sure that’s enough, babe?” Lance teases. 

(It’s an ongoing joke with him---Keith being prepared. It wasn’t funny months ago. It’s not funny now. But Lance is persistent: 

When Keith pulls a small bottle out of one of his belt pouches and Lance absolutely  _ cackles. _ Keith tells him to keep it down, and it only gets worse. Unable to catch his breath, Lance slaps the walls of the supply unit they’re supposed to be inspecting prior to transport, and it makes such a loud noise that one of the Blades (not Kolivan, thank fuck,) pings in to see if they’re okay. Lance is laughing so hard that he’s crying, as Keith attempts to bullshit an explanation for the sound, all while keeping Lance out of frame. 

When Keith accidentally spilled an entire jar of lubricant---why the fuck would it have come in a jar, anyways---over the duvet in an expensive suite they were occupying on a diplomatic mission. They resolved to hide the evidence in the morning, but enroute to the laundry room...Hunk caught them. Hunk can’t keep a secret to save his life, so soon Pidge is in on it. And they kept cracking jokes about it all day long. ( _ Sure you’ve got a handle on this one, buddy? Hate to see you fumble this. We might be in for a slippery situation. _ ) Lance was trying so hard not to bust up laughing that his face was as red as his lion’s. After four varga of that, Keith got so irked that he muted all of their comms. It wasn’t even completely Keith’s fault! Lance is wiggly! It’s distracting! 

When Keith returns from a swap moon with six new bottles of lube in his bag. Lance told him, completely serious, that soon they were going to have to stage an intervention. Call Shiro in and everything. Keith pushed him off the bed. Six bottles isn’t that much. It came in a multipack! It was a good deal! They look like different flavors! He was curious! 

And so, in this situation, Keith would normally scoff and get defensive and tell Lance for the last time that it’s  _ smart _ to be ready, and it’s not even that weird, and  _ so what  _ if he has a few different varieties of lube, they’re in travelling in space, obviously not everything is going to be the same everywhere---) 

But, right now, the timbre of Lance’s voice is more thready than his normal, confident snark. “S-sure that’s enough, babe?” he tries to tease,

But, right now, Keith doesn’t rise to the bait. He smirks. Pulls his shirt over his head. He folds it. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels at the opposite edge from where Lance is sitting. 

Lance sucks in a breath. 

“Shorts,” he tells Lance, indicating with a commanding motion that Lance pull off his boxers to give to Keith. 

He does as he’s told, lifting his ass off the bed to slip out of the boxers. His cock looks achingly hard, head glistening, already messy. 

Keith takes the shorts, maintaining eye-contact. He squeezes lube out into his palm. Lance watches as Keith slicks his own dick. Lance makes a small noise, still watching as Keith brings the boxers to his nose. Keith closes his eyes, unconcerned. He inhales and strokes himself. 

He’s not sure what it is about the smell that does it for him. It didn’t used to be this way, but as he’s gotten older...Some fucked up manifestation of his hybrid biology, probably. Increasing his sensitivity for scent far past what’s normal for humans. He doesn’t care. All he knows is that it sets his nerves on fire, somehow makes everything  _ more. _ It smells like Lance. It smells like  _ his _ . Like lust, like want, like possession, like Lance, like home. He strokes, faster, rough, he’s hard, he’s so hard, he’s almost, 

“Perv,” Lance breathes, 

Keith’s eyes flick to Lance. He’s being obedient, hands clenched into fists at his sides, not jerking off. Just like Keith told him. Another blurt of pre is glistening at the tip of his cock. Keith strokes himself again---slower, base to head, twisting his wrist---and Lance watches the motion like a man possessed. Hanging on Keith’s every movement. He loves it. 

“Could get off just like this,” Keith tells him, cupping his balls before returning to lazily tugging. Combined with the smell, it feels so fucking good. It feels even better to see how worked up Lance is getting. He’s serious. 

Lance whines, shifting against the sheets. Still not touching. “You---”

Keith inhales again, nose buried deep in the shorts, before continuing: “And you’d do what, exactly, Lance? Just sit there?” 

Lance lets out another noise, something caught between a groan and a whine and the sound of Keith’s name. 

Keith smiles. He could. But he won’t. He sets Lance’s shorts aside. Pushes his own down the rest of the way so that they’re both fully unclothed now. 

“Just sit there,” Keith repeats. He scoots closer, crawling into Lance’s lap. 

Lance is hot underneath him, chest noticeably flushed---telltale splotches below his collarbones---as Keith straddles either side of his waist. Smears lube and pre across his skin. Lance’s arms come up around him, around his hips and ass, as Keith bends, kissing Lance’s upturned face. He has his hands on the back of Lance’s head, holding him still as he kisses him roughly. 

And the noises Lance is making into his mouth are obscene, fucked out little sounds that Keith normally wouldn’t be able to pull out of him until he’s split open on Keith’s cock or tongue. Lance isn’t used to it taking this long---isn’t used to being denied. It’s intoxicating, Keith is heady with it, burning with it, 

“Shit, Lance, you sound good like this,” 

Lance holds him closer, groaning as Keith tugs at his short hair, swearing into Keith’s mouth, 

Keith shifts over top of him, pushing Lance back into the mattress. He goes willingly, Keith’s hand behind his head, tongue in his mouth. 

He’s kneeling over Lance’s chest. Keith bends down over him, kisses him, all teeth and tongue, unrefined, until he sits up. Lance’s chest heaves underneath him. His eyes never leave Keith, wholly caught in Keith’s every movement. The thin gold chain is pooled in the hollow of his throat, and Keith carefully hooks a finger there, pulling it back so that it doesn’t feel too snug or catch his skin and pinch. 

He’s aching now. 

“Gonna fuck your mouth,” Keith tells him, running shaky fingers over Lance’s kiss bruised lips. He’s being so compliant. So good. This is the perfect opportunity for Lance to protest, or even joke, if this isn’t what he wants. 

Nothing. Lance looks up at him, black pulled impossibly wide in his eyes, flush darkening his cheeks. He gives the slightest nod. 

“Good,” Keith tells him, “You’re being so good for me, sweetheart,” 

Lance’s whimper is caught in his throat as Keith pillows the crown of his cock against his parted lips. He slides in. 

It’s hot. Keith closes his eyes, bites his lip. He isn’t going to last long, 

He starts slow, rocking his hips, his cock sliding against Lance’s tongue, that wet heat, hotter, hotter, 

Lance’s hands are on the back of Keith’s thighs, Keith can feel his fingers playing in the hair there, even as Lance takes him so well. 

And then he’s holding Lance’s forehead, fucking his mouth in earnest. 

Keith tosses his head back, losing himself to the feeling, as his hips move faster; the heat, the slackness of Lance underneath him, trusting, docile, 

He groans, pulling out before he comes. He wraps his hand around his dick to jerk himself to completion. 

He comes over Lance’s lips and chin. 

White splatters across his cheeks, dark with flush. Lance tilts his head back against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut, absolutely filthy in the way that he arches his back, parts his mouth, at the sensation. 

Keith exhales one ragged breath over top of him. And another. He looks down at Lance, catches how intensely Lance is watching him. Keith’s own heartbeat is loud in his ears, but beyond that, the silence hangs between them, charged. 

Keith swipes cum off Lance’s face. He slips the finger in his mouth to taste. 

Lance shudders underneath him---a full body shudder---so intense that for a moment, Keith thinks that he just came. But Lance is holding himself now, squeezing to prevent release. He breathes through his nose, drags in one ragged inhale. And another. 

Keith bends over top of him, once again catching Lance’s mouth with his own. The kiss now is lazy, sloppy, both of them too worked up to coordinate the way they should. Lance’s hands are a vicegrip on his hips. Keith can taste himself over Lance’s skin. 

“Lance,” 

Lance looks up at him, eyes glassy and wet. Keith has a hand against his cheek. He runs a thumb over Lance’s cheekbone. 

“Yeah?” 

His voice is rough and fucked out. 

Keith’s spent dick twitches at the sound of it. 

“Gonna prep you now. Roll over.” 

Lance blinks. He huffs out a barely there kind of laugh. Keith stops stroking his cheek and gives him a quizzical look. Lance’s face splits into a grin and he laughs for real, a wheezing sound that makes his shoulders shake. 

“What?” Keith asks. He frowns down at Lance. “What did I say?” 

Lance rolls his eyes and pushes Keith off from on top of him. The bottle of lube is buried in the sheets; he finds it and tosses it over his shoulder at Keith. 

Keith catches it. “What?” 

“Roll over, Lance.” Lance repeats, first clearing his throat to do his signature ‘mocking Keith’ voice. “First Simon Says, then basic dog commands, you really suck at this.” 

Keith snorts, wholly offended. “Excuse me? Lance?” 

“You’re excused.” Lance continues, getting comfortable on his knees, resting on his elbows and forearms, “I mean. You’d think the guy who leads the legendary Voltron AND who took over the super secret alien ninja organization would be good at issuing orders. But no. Not Keith.” 

“You liked it so far,” Keith argues, slicking up his fingers. He squeezes the bottle over Lance’s ass, just because he knows that Lance hates the feeling. 

Sure enough, Lance shivers, shoulders tensing as the viscous liquid drips between his cheeks. Once recovered, he clicks his tongue in disagreement and says,“Buddy, I haven’t even come yet.  _ ‘Liked it so far’  _ pssh, don’t get ahead of yourself. Feels like my dick is gonna bust,” 

Which is...probably the least sexy thing to hear. Why does he love this man? Shaking his head, Keith slides the first finger in. 

“Haa--ah,” Lance says. 

“That’s what I thought,” Keith tells him. Smug. “Simon Says: stop lying through your teeth.” 

Lance lifts his right hand and gives Keith the bird. “Simon says fuck you.” 

Keith hums. “I’m busy right now, Lance. Maybe next time.” Lance is relaxed and pilant under his touch. He adds another finger. 

Lance lets out a low noise that’s not quite Keith’s name. His head drops to between his shoulders. He rocks back, greedy for more as Keith finger fucks him. 

“Keith,” Lance hisses, half a warning, as Keith spreads his fingers and curls. “Fu--cking love your hands, h-holy shit,” 

Keith responds by adding another finger. He sees Lance shift, his hand reaching down between his legs, 

“Not yet,” Keith tells him, pausing his movement. He runs his free hand teasingly down Lance’s inner thigh. Lance whines. 

His cock is hanging heavy between his legs, dripping onto the sheets. 

“I’m gonna---K-Keith---” Lance hiccups through his name. He keens. “Keith. M’gonna come,” 

“You won’t.” Keith tells him. 

Lance makes a frustrated noise. He looks back to glare at Keith. “M’ _ preetty  _ sure that I would be the one who would know. Keith.” 

Keith smiles at him, fingers pumping now that the slide is just right. He leans forward to plant a kiss over the line of Lance’s spine. “Not yet. Not until I say.” 

Keith pulls his fingers out and Lance actually moans. 

He moves over Lance, pushing him down against the sheets. Lance swears as his cock---untouched now for too long---ruts against the sheets. 

“What was that?” Keith goads. “Huh, Lance, I didn’t quite---” 

“Fuck me,” Lance says again, shameless and demanding. 

Like he has before, so many times. 

But not exactly like that either, because as Keith hikes up Lance’s thigh and slides in, all in one smooth motion, Lance goes boneless underneath him. 

He pulls out and thrusts in again, and Lance’s fists curl in the sheets, and his mouth is slack, and he’s making the cutest little noises, all breathy and short. Hitched moans and half curses and mismatched syllables of Keith’s name. So close, and Keith has barely even moved. 

Keith fucks him, slow, gentle, overwhelmed. “This what you wanted, Lance?” he asks, his own voice gravelly against Lance’s ear. He kisses his shoulder blade, tightens his hold on Lance’s thigh. The muscles shift under his touch. Keith rolls his hips, rougher now, quickening his pace, as he feels Lance get tighter, tighter, 

“You---hnn, La-nce, you wanted me to blindfold you? Tie you up? Gag you?” Keith asks, words punched out in time with his thrusts. 

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Lance is stuttering underneath him, “Yes, Ke--ith, Kei--yes, ri-ght there,” 

“I’d never gag you because then I wouldn't be able to hear,” Keith manages, breath short himself, “All the sounds. You--So cute, so good, so good for me,” 

“Keith,” Lance whines, close, 

“Say my name, sweetheart,” Keith urges,

Lance shivers. 

Keith pulls out and it’s almost a scream, the noise that drops from Lance’s mouth,

The way the whine hitches and rises, 

Keith pulls out and flips Lance over to his back. 

Presses Lance’s knees to his chest and slides in again. 

Lance tips his head back, breath ghosting over Keith’s face. The column of his neck is gorgeous as he closes his eyes, fully submitting under Keith. Fully trusting him. Keith lifts one of his hands to rest against Lance’s neck. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just runs his thumb over Lance’s adam’s apple, under his chin, along his jaw. Lance swallows. 

He pulls his hips back and thrusts into his hot, tight heat. Lance’s breath shudders under his touch. He fucks in again, thoughts hazy with lust, ever present flame flaring to a roar in his gut. _ I’m going to get you there. _ He’s determined, too caught up in the feeling of Lance underneath him to verbalize it.  _ I’ll get you there,  _

He sets the pace, bottom lip caught in his teeth, focused on hitting Lance’s prostate, pushing him closer and closer to that edge, watching every tell. 

He can see the way Lance’s cock is bouncing with every thrust. The way the pool of pre is dripping down his chest. The filthy sound of the lube between them. Lance’s ever moving hands are still, one caught buried the sheets above his head, the other holding onto his own thigh as Keith fucks him. 

The slap of skin and Keith’s own hurried breaths is punctuated by a sudden gasp. He slows. A sob escapes Lance’ mouth. 

“Keith,” he shudders, “Keith,” he repeats, overwhelmed. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. 

“That’s right,” Keith soothes. He straightens up, slowing the roll of his hips. “You’ve been so good, so perfect---Lance,” 

Lance’s cheeks are wet and his mouth is caught, open, a silent sob, 

“Come for me,” Keith tells him. “Lance--” 

Lance comes untouched. 

One moment his mouth is open and slack, relaxed and sweet, as he edges closer and closer, and the next. The next moment, he arches underneath Keith with a drawn out moan, garbled around Keith’s name. 

White coats his abs and Keith runs a hand through it, lets it smear, lets his fingers slip through it even as he continues to fuck Lance. 

Keith fucks him through it, chasing his own orgasm, hips stuttering as it rocks over him. He bends over, keening deep, vision white. 

Lance pulls him down, kisses him open mouthed and sensitive. Kisses him until they’re just a mess of limbs and sweat and swears. Rising chests and Lance’s hands in his hair. His hands are shaking. His cheeks are still wet. Keith collapses on top of him, utterly spent. 

He’s vaguely aware of Lance’s hands running down his back, the way his face is tucked into Keith’s neck, how one of Lance’s legs is wrapped around his waist. 

His hand stills as Keith props himself up, pulls out with a grunt. 

He rolls over to his back beside Lance. Listens to the soothing rise and fall of his breaths. And falls asleep.

…

Keith opens his eyes to see two brown eyes peering at him under raised brows. 

“Uh.” 

Lance’s thin brows climb higher up his forehead. And then he smirks. 

Keith closes his eyes again and tries to settle into the pillow. 

Lance leans over him. Mouth close to the shell of Keith’s ear, he whispers: “Predictable.” 

Keith plants a hand on Lance’s sternum and pushes him away with a groan. 

“Predictable! Kogane, I swear if you aren’t the most predictable,” He pulls the pillow out from under Keith’s head, “the most  _ predictable _ half-Galran, knife fetishizing, mullet growin---” 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut before giving up. Giving in, he sits up on one elbow to glare at him. “Lance. What are you  _ talking _ about.” 

“Twenty-three minutes!!” Lance shouts, waving a comm in his face. “Exactly!!!” 

Keith snatches the comm out of his hand (easily) and flings it across the room. It hits the wall with a smack, but those things are meant to withstand a multitude of damaging scenarios. This was probably not one of them, but. It will be fine. 

Lance, similarly unconcerned about the fate of his comm, continues, 

He claps Keith on the shoulder. “I have this shit down to a science. Dude. Twenty-three minutes is the minimum amount of time you need after you pass out. After that. It’s certified go-time, baby.” 

Keith shakes his head. He has no idea what Lance is talking about, but he’s definitely not going anywhere. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

That being settled, Keith closes his eyes again. 

“Okay. Well that’s just great.” Lance mutters. “Here I am, thoroughly fucked, perfectly content,  _ glowing  _ in all of my correctness, and you’re just gonna sleep!” 

What else would they do? Eyes still closed, but no closer to sleep, Keith puts on his ‘sexy and dark’ voice. “Lance. I command you. Sleep.” 

Lance does a full body shudder, as if he’s disgusted. “Ew. Never do that again.” 

“Glow in the morning,” Keith tells him. 

“Nope,” Lance tells him, popping the ‘p’. “You and me have a hot date with the shower, Keith-y boy. Right now.” 

Keith weighs his options: Ignore Lance for however many hours and risk getting no sleep whatsoever. Or. Drag himself to the shower, let Lance flounce around in the water for awhile, then fall asleep while holding him. With Lance warm and sleepy and comfortable. Second option is better. 

Decision made, Keith shifts out of bed. “C’mon then,” 

Lance follows him. He slides out of bed with a wince. He stretches, arms over his head, back crackling and hips aligning. He grimaces. “...shit.” 

Keith gives him a smirk. 

“Don’t.” Lance warns, wagging a finger. “Don’t start.” He pushes past Keith to the shower, turning the taps from normal hot, to stupid hot, to scalding. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Keith says, leaning against the doorframe. Lance looks like a mess. His hair is floofing all over the place, his lips are bitten pink, there’s cum and lube over his thighs. A pretty bruise is already blooming redpurple on Lance’s chest. He’s going to freak out when he sees it. 

“You didn’t and you won’t,” Lance retorts. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Augh! Keith!” 

Keith laughs. 

Lance shakes his head, grumbling as he ducks under the showerhead. 

Keith gets in after him, content to watch the steam roll out of the top of the shower as Lance fusses with all his various bottles. Lance scoots him around the way he likes, the two of them shuffling around the small shower cubicle like a slow dance they know too well. 

Lance taps on his shoulder, and Keith tilts his head back. His eyes fall shut in perfect bliss as Lance lathers his hair with shampoo. Blunt fingernails against his scalp make his shoulders drop into peerless relaxation. Lance shimmies him under the shower and is careful not to get it in his eyes. 

Keith would be content to leave it as is, but Lance insists on conditioning too. He tries to stay still (and patient) while Lance runs his fingers through his hair, distributing the creme rinse. It smells like coconut and sweet. It tickles. Keith sighs. 

Even through the beat of the water, Keith can feel the smile tugging at Lance’s lips when he plants a kiss over the back of Keith’s neck. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll consider rinsing this out too. And  _ maybe  _ washing your back.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, not at all concerned. He leans back, relaxed against Lance’s chest. 

Lance’s fingers are soft on his face, his forehead, smoothing over his brows, tracing light patterns into the widow’s peak of Keith’s hairline. “You love this,” he accuses. 

“I like whatever, if it’s you,” Keith’s reply is immediate, if not a little sleepy. The hot water is nice. The heavy feeling in his limbs is nice. Lance’s hands in his hair are nice. 

Lance’s hands still. 

He’s quiet as they finish their shower. As Keith towels him off, and then Lance does the same for him. 

They settle back in bed, Lance with his face tucked against Keith’s chest. He’s half asleep, more mumbling than anything. A deep inhale. A breathy sigh. 

“Love you, Keith,” 

Keith holds him close, inhaling against his skin before he drifts off too. He knows. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!! This was a lot of smut but I accidentally made it soft at the end, whoops. I hope you enjoyed! Please leave me a kudos or even a comment if you feel like it, it’s a nice thing for me to see :>
> 
> If you want more of my particular flavor of klance (smiles, I like to binge read so I assume others do too), may I recommend making sure you’re up to date with all the fics in the [spooky klance saga](https://archiveofourown.org/series/941781)? If you came for the smut, there’s a good bit of that buried in those stories. And! The next klance I post will maybe probably be another story in that au (waggles brows in a lance-like fashion). If ghost hunting klance is not your jam, that’s okay too. 
> 
> Last thing: [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jacqulinetan)! I retweet a whole lotta keith!


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